Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/88

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He gazed within the fountain, and the view Was not more than the tablet's likeness true. At length they parted, as those part, in pain, Who rather wish than hope to meet again.

'T was night, but night which the imperial moon, Regal in her full beauty, turn'd to noon, But still the noon of midnight; though the ray Was clear and bright, it was not that of day; When came to a gate: 't was roll'd On its vast hinges back; his eyes behold "He who counts his life but light,   Let him hunt my deer to-night:" Needed no more, honour might be to win, Eager our gallant spurr'd his courser in. A noble park it was: the sweep of green Seem'd like a sea touch'd with the silver sheen